


This Gun Like a Woman

by Zagzagael



Series: Deadwood Season 4 [3]
Category: Deadwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael





	This Gun Like a Woman

A quick thousand words wherein Seth sits down with Al in regards to the winter pasture. [info]fragrantwoods if you would like to respond in a small paragraph of dialogue...we might try seeing if we could co-write this scene....It's up to you! And if the Doc shows up, I would brook no argument!

 

The Bank was nearly completed, The Gem very close behind. Twin buildings with no purpose in common save they now resembled each other remarkably and the undeniable fact that both were at similar stages of completion while the rest of the main road stood in various degrees of construction and demolition. Seth stood at the far end of the thoroughfare, outside his own house, looking down into Deadwood. He had a cup of very strong coffee in one hand, the long fingers of his other hand playing absently over the butt-end of his pistol holstered on his hip.

He took another sip; Martha had finally begun making the coffee as strong as he preferred it to be. It was good. And thinking of the bitterly tart taste of the coffee had him thinking of another strong taste he had recently come to favor and he felt the rounded tips of his ears flush with heat, the blood coursing strong through his body and settling into the lower end of his guts. Thoughts of his wife were beginning to distract him, her body, the way she moved beneath him, above him, beside him. There was a long expanse of her skin running from beneath her arm, down the gentle keyboarding of her ribs, sinking then swelling at her hipbone and banded with the stretching of carrying his brother’s child. The broken marks were unfamiliar to him before but now he recognized them intimately. He could feel them in the dark, his hands fast and tight around her waist, pressing her closer to his body, pulling her into his own need for dissolution.

Alma had borne no such striations. And yet Alma had a child and Martha did not. He tapped out a quick beat on the worn grip of the gun. Thinking of Alma’s body twisted something inside of him and he had not yet been able to grab hold of it and see it for what it was, why it was acting on him in such a manner. He closed his eyes and forcibly dismissed the memories of the dark for the light.

He knew Martha wanted to mother her own babe again but something was holding her away from it, keeping her barren. He found himself wishing he could rock her to sleep in his arms and while she slept like a dandelion clock, breathe on all her grief and have it scattered to the winds.

Suddenly he realized; he wanted to father a child on her.

He finished the coffee, the morning was still breaking and he could smell his breakfast cooking. Today he was meeting with Al and whatever other handful of questionable men the saloon keeper kept close. They were going to discuss the joint idea of winter pasturing. Seth could feel the impending cold in the air, on his skin, in his lungs. They needed to make the project a reality within a weeks’ time and he had no doubt that if Al concurred it would be done.

He turned and walked back into his house.

 

Seth and Sol stepped in unison up onto the makeshift boardwalk in front of The Gem, they moved shoulder-to-shoulder into the saloon, eyes not needing to adjust as the entire eastern side of the building was still open to the elements, the wooden framing reminiscent of a rotting buffalo out on the plain, ribs open to the sky. Dan looked up from the bar and with a casual wave of his hand indicated a table. It was empty but the two men sat and bent their heads together in conversation.

Dan joined them. “Al’ll be down in just a few, I reckon. You two early?”

Seth shook his head, his mouth set in a scowl. “No.”

Above them, Al’s door opened and two voices drifted over the balustrade and down into the room proper. Seth froze at the sound of Alma’s voice, the familiar cadence, the throaty inflection. The air inside his lungs began to burn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sol’s gaze flick to his face and then away quickly. He exhaled but refused his body’s impulse to turn and look up. Behind him he could hear them making their way down the stairs and finally, they moved beside him and stopped. Below the table, on his thighs, his fists clenched tight enough to crack the knuckles of his left hand. He twisted his head and caught Alma’s steady look. There was high colour in her cheekbones and her pupils seemed shot but there was no characteristic look of the laudanum about her, he was perplexed. He stood and inclined his head towards her. Behind her, Al smirked and suddenly Seth knew.

“Mr. Bullock,” Alma said, her voice breathy as usual.

Beside him, Sol was standing. “Are you attending this meeting, Mrs. Garrett?”

“I am indeed, Mr. Starr. Mr. Swearengen has requested that I consider becoming the deed holder on his proposed project. Do you mind?”

“Of course not!” Sol said and pulled out a chair beside him. On the far side of the table, Al was pulling out a chair and Alma looked from one end to the other and then in a movement of purposeful acquiescence, moved to sit beside Al.

Seth drummed his fingers on the long edge of his holster and let his gaze slowly slide from the woman to Swearengen. Al looked up from pushing Alma’s chair to vantage and the sharp look in his eyes was one of open challenge.

Seth sat, all of his weight on the balls of his feet, his ass on the edge of the chair, one forearm heavy on the table and the other tucked in loose to his side, his fingers tracing the familiar shape and feel of his holstered gun.


End file.
